


Together

by speedgriffon



Series: I Shall Taunt You a Second Time | Dragonborn Fiona Fics [10]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Canon Dialogue, F/M, Love Confessions, Thieves Guild Questline, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2019-11-12 04:25:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18003776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/speedgriffon/pseuds/speedgriffon
Summary: Nightengales at last, it is time to discuss who will take over as Guildmaster, and for Brynjolf to deliver a "heartfelt confession." (Set during the events of "Trinity Restored")





	1. Chapter 1

Fiona was now a Nightingale.

Karliah had brought Brynjolf and her to the Shadow Stone, and even though the two shared some skepticism, had followed the dark elf through her ceremony. It was a necessary alliance to make between themselves and Nocturnal if they were to defeat Mercer.

Away from the ritual site, Fiona took time to reflect on what they needed to do next. Brynjolf was convinced that the disgraced Guildmaster was heading to Irkngthand, where the Eyes of the Falmer were hidden away in a dwemer ruin. It would be a long trip, but she— _they_ —we ready. Mercer had betrayed them each in a way, and now, revenge would be theirs.

She noticed Brynjolf and Karliah talking a few yards away and approached, pushing back her hood and removing the mask of her new nightingale armor. It was effective for sneaking through the shadows, but was otherwise stifling. Brynjolf had already done so, seemingly sharing her discomfort. They both turned to acknowledge Fiona’s presence, Karliah nodding at Brynjolf for him to speak.

“Listen, lass.” His attitude was more serious than she had heard before, even given the current circumstances. “There’s one last piece of business we need to discuss before we go to Irkngthand…the leadership of the guild.”

Fiona shot her brows up in surprise. She had figured that it was _Brynjolf_ that would succeed—he was already the acting Guildmaster, or so she assumed. “Why tell this to me?” she asked.

“Karliah and I have been discussing this for some time,” he explained. “It was thanks to your efforts that we know of Mercer’s treachery. After we deal with him, all that remains is restoring the Guild to its full strength. Something _you’ve_ already been working on with Delvin.”

Fiona didn’t like where this was going, what he was insinuating. She shook her head, but Brynjolf only continued. “Karliah and I both feel that _you_ have the potential of replacing Mercer as leader of the Thieves Guild.”

“ _Me_?!” Fiona yelped, bewildered. She understood that she had been doing numerous jobs for the Guild, but Brynjolf had been helping her. Plus, didn’t they account for seniority? She gestured towards him. “What about you?”

Brynjolf let out a soft chuckle. “I’ve been doing this a long time, lass,” he sighed. “You know I’m good at what I do, but it’s all I know. I’ve never been one to lead.”

“I…I don’t know if this is right,” she responded, glancing to Karliah who was quietly listening to the exchange.

“Look, Fiona,” he said firmly. “Everyone in the Guild admires you—what you’ve done.” The sincerity in his tone made her confidence shift. “You care about us, and certainly possess a loyalty that Mercer lacked.” His hand reached out to cup her shoulder, squeezing supportively. “I can’t think of anyone better.”

Fiona took in a steady breath and finally nodded, “okay.”

Brynjolf smiled, and his hand slipped down her arm in an affectionate sweep, his fingers tightening around her own for a moment. It was then that Karliah finally spoke, “I’ll leave you two to speak in private.”

Fiona was curious about her sudden departure from the group, figuring that whatever they had to discuss involved all three of them. The way Brynjolf was staring at her made her think otherwise, and her chest flared with a mix of warmth and anxiety. When the silence was too much to bare, Fiona frowned.

“What is it?” she prompted.

Brynjolf flashed her a brief, sideways smile before shaking his head, almost as if he was in disbelief. “I can’t believe I’m about to do this.”

Her heart was pounding now. “Do what?”

He took her other hand, holding them both at their sides as he stepped closer. At first, she thought he was going to kiss her, which confused her—he had done that _hundreds_ of times now. Instead he leaned forward until his forehead rested gently against hers. His green eyes were shining behind every slow blink.

“Fiona, lass…” he sucked in a breath, and she felt his fingers tighten around her hand. “You know I care about you. More than…”

A specific sort of joy started to radiate across her skin. She bit down on her bottom lip, struggling to maintain the grin she impulsively flashed. “Yes,” she answered. “I know.”

“Of course you know,” he whispered. He pulled away a fraction, eyes dipping to her mouth. She smiled fully that time, encouraging him to continue. “This isn’t an easy thing for…someone like me.”

“Like you?” she questioned.

“A scoundrel, a womanizer,” he paused. “Someone with a dirty past.”

“I like…dirty,” Fiona teased, biting her tongue when Brynjolf rolled his eyes.

“You’ve certainly made me a different man.”

“How so? You’re still a scoundrel.”

“Damnit woman,” Brynjolf snapped, even as he laughed. “You’re making a heartfelt confession more difficult than it needs to be.”

Fiona pursed her lips through a grin, and focused on the way her chest expanded with a new kind of warmth. _A confession_?

“I _really_ care about you, more than I usually lead on.” His brow furrowed together. “I’m a master of deflection, with the teasing, and the flirting…I’m as good at playing games as I am at stealing.”

 _People’s hearts_ —Fiona thought to herself. She didn’t speak, allowing him to navigate through what he wanted to say, knowing it wasn’t an easy task. She had a general idea of what he was trying to convey. She squeezed his hands in encouragement.

“No more playing games, Fiona,” he declared. “At least…I don’t want to appear insincere, when what I feel is far from it.”

“And what’s that?” she asked.

“I—” Brynjolf’s face flushed with the slightest blush, and he cleared his throat when the words got stuck.

As hopeful as she had been, she didn’t let it hinder her happiness at what he had just admitted. Brynjolf didn’t always need words—his actions spoke volumes, and hers could too. She yanked on his arms to close the gap between them, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as she covered his lips with her own in a passionate kiss. Fiona hoped it said everything it needed to—that she felt the same; that she had been waiting for this longer than she cared to admit. What they had between them was _real_ , and worth a serious commitment. Brynjolf held onto her tightly, one hand cradling the back of her head as he kissed her eagerly. When they broke away for a breath of air, they were grinning.

“Tell me later,” Fiona said.

Brynjolf nodded, his expression softening in relief. “I plan to.”

While they didn’t have all evening to bask in the joyful moment, Fiona still took the little time they had to simply stand in his embrace. She tried to not think about what would come next, but it nagged at the back of her mind.

“Do we stand a chance against Mercer?” she asked next, worried about the outcome. There was so much left for her to do in Skyrim, and she wanted to do so with Brynjolf at her side.

He shrugged at first. “If you would’ve asked me that yesterday, I’d have said no.” He hugged her once more. “But now? Our chances have improved. Besides, I’d rather die with some of Mercer’s blood on my blade than spend the rest of my life regretting that I ran the other way.”

“Nobody is going to die, except for Mercer,” Fiona assured. “And the only running we’ll be doing is off into the sunset,” she added, attempting to lighten the mood. She grinned, and was relieved when Brynjolf copied in kind.

“Aye, lass,” he agreed. “The two of us. Together.”


	2. Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brynjolf contemplates his near-death experience after the events at Irkngthand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place immediately after [this short story](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17688860/chapters/41936453), which takes place after Chapter One of this story. Since it's a longer word count, I thought it belonged here.

_Water. It was quickly filling the cavern, forcing the three Nightingales to high ground. Soon enough, there was nowhere to stand, and as more water rushed into the space, it was clear they were trapped._

_There was no way out._

_Brynjolf’s mind was still clouded by whatever spell Mercer had placed him under. No matter how hard he tried to keep himself afloat, his body just felt so **heavy**. A small voice in his head had him wondering if it would be easier to just…let go. _

_“I’ve got you.” Fiona’s arm tucked around his waist as she lifted his head from dipping beneath the surface. “Bryn, don’t you dare quit on me now.”_

_He rolled his head to the side in her hand, struggling to keep his eyes focused on hers. The panic in her expression made his heart heavy—but there really wasn’t much he could do in that moment to help. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out._

_“Karliah! Do you see a way out?” Fiona shouted, her gaze never moving from his face._

_However Karliah replied, Brynjolf didn’t hear, but it clearly only made Fiona more upset. She kicked her legs some more, moving the two of them as high as they could get to the top of the cavern. Even the statue that once held the Eyes of the Falmer was nearly completely submerged. Suddenly, there was rumbling from above. Rocks began to fall from the ceiling into the water around them, and then—_

_“Look out!” Karliah shouted just as the ceiling collapsed, the large boulder crashing into the water separating Brynjolf from Fiona. Instantly he was beneath the surface, a rushing tide sucking his body upwards._

_He was already disorientated, but now, there was no hope—he reached out blindly, but felt nothing. When the pressure on his chest became too tight, he opened his mouth, inhaling the water. It stung, his body in a type of pain he had never felt before. He was terrified, but as the moments passed, his thoughts slipped away._

_There was only darkness. Silence. His end._

* * *

 

Brynjolf was startled awake, clenching the sheets surrounding him as he gasped for air. The dream, or perhaps it was a memory, had felt so real—his lungs burned and his heartbeat was so shallow, he was sure death had come for him, again. If Karliah’s account was to be trusted, he was beneath the water and unconscious longer than any man should be. But Fiona had rescued and revived him—he was lucky to be alive. Unsurprisingly, he was not his usual self. It would take a few days, perhaps longer, for him to recover from the events at Irkngthand.

Fiona.

He turned his head, exhaling deeply as his breathing evened out. She was lying next to him, turned away as she slept. Brynjolf only remembered in that moment that she had stayed with him that evening, at his insistence. She had discovered him in an embarrassingly unwell state in his inn room, no doubt brought on by his near drowning. Not that she needed _too_ much convincing to stay with him, especially now that he had expressed his desire for commitment.

Slowly he turned onto his side, tucking his arm around her waist and nuzzling his face into the crook of her neck. He inhaled the sweet scent of whatever she had used to bathe the stench of that dwemer ruin away—blue mountain flowers—he took another breath—vanilla. It was calming, comforting. Everything he needed in that very moment. It still dumbfounded him just how blessed he was to have her in his life—something he didn’t realize he had been yearning for until she appeared and quite literally stole his heart.  

Brynjolf clutched her tighter, cursing to himself that he hadn’t had the courage to tell her before. Not entirely. Fiona had inferred, understood that he wanted to be with her and _only_ her. His feelings for her were far deeper than just lust and flirtatious banter. But when the time came to confess this truth…the words fell heavy on his tongue. It was something that he now regretted wholeheartedly. What if he had died in Irkngthand? The thought of her living on without the knowledge of his true emotions absolutely gutted him.

“Fiona,” he mumbled her name, burying his face further into her shoulder. “I—”

His heart raced, and frustration filled his veins as his throat seized up once again. Could he not even say it when she was asleep? Moments passed, and he tried to relax, despite the lingering tension he felt in his chest and mind. Brynjolf didn’t know whether to blame it on the dream, his emotions, or the lingering effects of Mercer’s spell. Instead, he slid his body as close to Fiona’s as possible, threading his legs amongst hers beneath the thick fur blankets.

“Hmm?” she stirred slightly, and he froze. Guilt pulled at his heart this time, not meaning to disturb her slumber. Her voice was barely audible. “Bryn?”

She tried to turn in his embrace, head craning back in an attempt to look at him. He kept her in place, resting his head against hers. “Shh,” he hushed. “I didn’t mean to wake you, love. Go back to sleep.”

In the passing silence, Fiona’s body went tense for a split second before relaxing. Brynjolf didn’t think much of it until she wiggled enough against him that he finally allowed her the room to roll over to face him. Her eyes were vibrant, even in the darkness. She gazed at him, not saying a word. He was confused for all of one minute before the words he just spoke echoed through his mind.

“Love?” she asked.

“Aye lass.” He nodded, sweeping his hand down her back and up again in a languid motion. “You heard me.”

Fiona’s smile was soft—Brynjolf didn’t need any light to tell she had the slightest of blushes. She hooked one of her arms around his torso, the other coming between them to rest on his chest. He only tucked her closer, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Your heart—Bryn, its racing,” she whispered, brows knitting together. Her expression held a hint of concern, which was justified, considering what had transpired just the previous day. Before he could respond, her hand drifted up towards his face, fingers lingering against his temple. “Divines! Brynjolf! You’re burning up!”

“I couldn’t sleep.” It was the only way Brynjolf thought to respond. Fiona frowned, and tried to scoot away, no doubt in an effort to nurse him as she had done before they fell asleep. But he kept her still again, shaking his head slightly as he caressed her back with his hand. “Just stay with me.”

She relaxed back into his embrace, but her eyes still held a look that craved answers.

“I would like to think it won’t stay with me, but it probably will,” he started. “Irkngthand. The drowning. Coming face-to-face with death and—”

Brynjolf paused, looking deep within Fiona’s eyes as she listened. She too had faced death— _Mercer_ —at Snowveil Sanctum, his treachery first exposed to her with a knife to the throat. His gaze dipped to where he knew the scar was, for the time covered by her hair and nightdress. He knew the memory haunted her, had comforted her through her own share of nightmares. Perhaps this was just one more life experience the two would share. His heart felt heavy once more, throat tightening in a way he was still so unbelievably unfamiliar with. What if Fiona really had died? Perhaps he had been in love with her longer than he realized—the thought was terrifying, but liberating all the same.

“What if I had died?” he pondered aloud, and for the first time in what felt like _decades_ , tears prickled his vision. “The thought of losing you, of you being alone—”

“But you didn’t,” Fiona interjected, the hand on his back clutching his shirt in reaction. “You’re alive, Brynjolf. You’re alive, and you’re here with me.”

Her words snapped him back into reality, and instantly, the fear dissipated. He moved his other hand between them to cradle the side of her face before kissing her, desperately. She kissed back eagerly, arms wrapping around his body as he rolled her beneath him, holding him tight as his kisses trailed away from her lips—down her chin and across her neck before he was tugging at her nightdress so that he could feel more skin with his mouth.

Fiona breathed his name as he pressed his hips against hers, only spurring him on. He reached down, gradually lifting at the skirts of her dress so he was better seated between her legs, that one hand disappearing beneath the fabric to feel at the soft skin of her thigh. When she moaned, he trailed his hand upwards, brushing the pads of his fingers along the outline of her undergarments. Brynjolf captured her lips again in a heated kiss, hoping that all the emotion he had been trying to convey was flowing through. This is what he wanted. Her. Fiona. _Everything_.

And then there was a knock at the door.

The two froze, pulling away from each other in an instant, wide-eyed. While neither was _too_ indecent, he still struggled to recall if either of them had locked the door before falling asleep. The last thing he wanted was to be interrupted—not _now_.

“It’s nearly dawn.” _Karliah_. “If you two are awake, we should leave for Riften, while we can make good time.”

At first, neither of them responded, just staring at one another breathless. Fiona finally cleared her throat, closing her eyes in disbelief as she shouted at the door, “Right. Brynjolf is still unwell. Give us a few moments!”

He raised his eyebrows, stifling a chuckle as Fiona shrugged, almost daring him to come up with a better excuse. Karliah didn’t respond, the sounds of her footsteps echoing away. Brynjolf lifted his head to look out the small window in the corner of the room, groaning at the darkness he saw. There was no way it was anywhere near dawn.

“She’s torturing us,” he muttered against Fiona’s shoulder, struggling to compose himself. He still very much wanted to continue, a large part of his brain contemplating how much time he would need to satisfy them both. After a moment, especially as he pulled away to glance down at her, he realized this was something he did not want to rush—not for the first time together, at least.

Fiona grinned, her hands sliding up and down his arms in a comforting manner. “Don’t worry too much love.” He smirked at her words, stealing a quick kiss before sitting up completely. He helped her up as well, pulling her into one last lingering embrace. Fiona placed a kiss right behind his ear, and softly laughed. “We’ll have all the alone time we want when we’re back in Riften.”

She was right—and Brynjolf couldn’t wait to get home.


End file.
